Smith reported the improvement. “It’s good, but there’s still no guarantee it means a full recovery.”
“Then we’ll hope.”
“If he knows anything, or took notes, he could’ve stored the data on his mainframe back in D.C. You’d better send a Covert-One computer expert.”
“Already did, Colonel. Had a hell of a time getting in, and when he did, he found nothing. If Zellerbach kept notes, he followed Chambord’s lead and didn’t put them into his computer.”
“It was an idea.”
“Appreciated. What do you plan next?”
“I’m going to the Pasteur. There’s an American biochemist I’ve worked with there. I’ll see what he can tell me about Chambord.”
“Be careful. Remember, you have no official position in this. Covert-One has to remain hidden.”
“It’s just friend going to friend, nothing more,” Smith reassured him.
“All right. Another thinghellip;I want you to meet General Carlos Henze, the American who commands NATO forces in Europe. He’s the only person over there who knows you’re assigned to investigate, but he thinks you’re working for army intelligence. The president called him personally to set this up. Henze’s got his contacts at work, and he’ll fill you in on what he’s found out over there. He doesn’t know anything about me or Covert-One, of course. Memorize this: Pension Ceacute;zanne, two p.m. sharp. Ask for M. Werner. The password is Loki.”
Chapter Five
Washington, D.C.
It was early morning, and a spring breeze blew the scent of cherry blossoms across the Tidal Basin and in through the open French doors of the Oval Office, but President Samuel Adams Castilla was too distracted to notice or care. He stood up behind the heavy pine table he used as a desk and glared at the three people who sat waiting for him to continue. He was just a year into his second term, and the last thing Castilla needed was a military crisis. Now was the time to solidify his accomplishments, get the rest of his programs through a fractious Congress, and build his historical image.
“So this is the situation,” he rumbled. “We haven’t got enough evidence yet to determine whether a molecular computer actually exists, and if it does, who has it. What we do know is that it’s not in our hands, dammit.” He was a big man with thick shoulders and a waist that had spread as wide as Albuquerque. Usually genial, he glared through his titanium glasses and worked at controlling his frustration. “The air force and my computer experts tell me they have no other explanation for what happened on Diego Garcia. My science adviser says he’s consulted top people in the field, and they claim there could be many reasons for the blip in communications out there, starting with some rare atmospheric anomaly. I hope the science folks are right.”
“So do I,” Admiral Stevens Brose agreed promptly.
“So do all of us,” added National Security Adviser Emily Powell-Hill.
“Amen,” said Chief of Staff Charles Ouray from where he leaned against the wall near the fireplace.
Admiral Brose and National Security Adviser Powell-Hill were sitting in leather chairs facing the president’s desk, which he had brought with him from Santa Fe. Like all presidents, he had chosen his own decor. The current furnishings reflected his rural Southwestern taste, now modified by five years of the cosmopolitan sophistication he had unexpectedly found he enjoyed in this loftiest seat of federal government, plus all the official trips to capitals, museums, and banquets around the planet. The ranch furniture from the New Mexico governor’s residence had been thinned and joined with elegant French side tables and a comfortable British club chair before the fireplace. The red-and-yellow Navajo drapes and the Amerindian vases, baskets, and headdresses now blended with Senegalese masks, Nigerian mud prints, and Zulu shields.
Restless, the president walked around the desk. He leaned back against it, crossed his arms, and continued, “We all know terrorist attacks tend to be by people whose main goal is to get attention for their cause and expose what they consider evil. But this situation has at least two kinks so far: This bomb wasn’t against the usual symbolic targetan embassy, a government building, a military installation, a famous landmarkand it wasn’t some lone suicide bomber taking out a crowded bus or busy nightclub. Instead, the target was a research and teaching facility. A place that helps humanity. But specifically, the building where a molecular computer was being built.”
Emily Powell-Hill, a former U.S. Army brigadier general, raised her perfect eyebrows. In her fifties, she was slender, long-legged, and highly intelligent. “With all due respect, Mr. President, the information you have about a DNA computer’s being completed appears to be largely speculation, projection from insufficient data, and plain old guesswork. It’s all based on a rumor about what might easily have been a random bombing with random victims. Is it possible your source’s disaster scenario comes from paranoia?” She paused. “In an attempt to put it delicatelyhellip;everyone knows the counterintelligence mentality tends to jump at the smallest shadow. This sounds like one of their knee-jerk ideas.”
The president sighed. “I suspect you’ve got something else you’d like to say on the subject.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. President, I do. My science people assure me DNA computer technology is stuck in the early developmental stages and treading water. A functional unit isn’t expected for at least a decade. Maybe two decades. Which is just one more reason to cast a very suspicious eye on what may be an overreaction.”
“You could be right,” the president said. “But I suspect you’ll find your scientists also agree that if anyone could make such a leap, Chambord would be at the top of the list.”
Charles Ouray, the president’s chief of staff, was frowning. “Can anyone explain in words an old political warhorse like me can understand exactly what makes a DNA machine so special and such a big threat?”
The president nodded at Emily Powell-Hill, and she focused on Ouray. “It’s all about switching from silicon, the foundation of computers, to carbon, the foundation of life,” she told him. “Machines are slavishly fast and precise, while life’s ever-changing and subtle. DNA computers will integrate the most powerful lessons from both worlds in a technology that’s far superior to anything most people can imagine today. And in large part, it’ll be because we’ve figured out how to use DNA molecules in place of microchips.”
Ouray grimaced. “Integrating life and machinery? Sounds like something you’d read in a comic book.”
“At one time, you probably did,” the president agreed. “A lot of technologies we take for granted now appeared early on in science fiction and comic books. The truth is, researchers have been working for years to figure out how to take advantage of DNA’s natural ability to reorganize and recombine quickly in complex, predictable patterns.”
“You’ve lost me, Mr. President,” Ouray said.
The president nodded. “Sorry, Chuck. Say you want to mow a lawn like out there on the Mall.” He waved his big hand vaguely in that direction. “The electronic solution would be to use a few giant lawn mowers, and each would cut thousands of blades of grass every second. That’s the way supercomputers operate. Now, the DNA solution’s just the opposite. It’d use billions of tiny mowers that’d each cut just one blade. The trick is that all those little DNA mowers would cut their blades at the same time. That’s the keynature’s massive parallelism. Take it from me, a molecular computer’s going to dwarf the power of today’s biggest supercomputer.”
“Plus, it’ll use almost no energy and be a lot cheaper to operate,” Emily Powell-Hill added. “When one’s created. If one’s created.”
“Swell,” growled Admiral Stevens Brose, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, from the second leather chair, where he had been listening quietly. lie was sitting awkwardly, his ankles crossed, his big chin jutting forward. Confidence and worry battled on his square face. “If that DNA thing really exists, and it’s controlled by someone who doesn’t like us, or maybe they want something we’re not going to give, and that’s the case with probably half the world right nowhellip;I don’t even want to think about the future. Our military moves, fights, lives, and breathes on electronics, command codes, and communications codes. Hell, computers run everything now, including ordering liquor supplies for the Joint Chiefs’ cocktail parties. The way I see it, railroads were the key to the Civil War, aircraft to World War Two, and encrypted and protected electronics are going to be the big decider in future wars, God help us.”
“Defense implications are your responsibility, Stevens,” the president told him. “So of course that’s what you think of first. Me, I’ve got to take into account other problems, too. Civilian situations.”
“Like what?” Chuck Ouray asked.
“I’m told a DNA computer can shut down oil and gas pipelines, and there goes our fuel supply. It can cut off air traffic control operations at hubs across the continent, everywhere from New York City to Chicago and Los Angeles. The number of deaths we could expect from that is catastrophic. Of course, it can access funds-transfer networks at the Federal Reserve, which means our treasury could be emptied in a heartbeat. It can also open the gates to the Hoover Dam. With that, we can expect the drowning deaths of hundreds of thousands of people.”